complete; but I fancy that, even here, he would have had difficulty
in marketing this one," and he unfolded the last packet, and held up
to the light a rose-diamond which seemed to me as large as a walnut,
and a-glow with lovely colour.

"Perhaps you have stopped to admire the Mazarin diamond in the
_galérie d'Apollon_ at the Louvre," said M. Pigot. "There is always a
crowd about that case, and a special attendant is installed there to
guard it, for it contains some articles of great value. But the
Mazarin is not one of them; for it is not a diamond at all; it is
paste--a paste facsimile of which this is the original. Oh, it is all
quite honest," he added, as Grady snorted derisively. "Some years
ago, the directors of the Louvre needed a fund for the purchase of
new paintings; needed also to clean and restore the old ones. They
decided that it was folly to keep three millions of francs imprisoned
in a single gem, when their Michael Angelos and da Vincis and
Murillos were encrusted with dirt and fading daily. So they sought a
purchaser for the Mazarin; they found one in the empress of Russia,
who had a craze for precious stones, and who, at her death, left this
remarkable collection to her favourite son, who had inherited her
passion. A paste replica of the Mazarin was placed in the Louvre for
the crowds to admire, and every one soon forgot that it was not
really the diamond. For myself, I think the directors acted most
wisely. And now," he added, with a gesture toward the glittering
heaps, "what shall we do with all this?"

"There's only one thing to do," said Grady, awaking suddenly as from
a trance, "and that's to get them in a safe-deposit box as quick as
possible. There's no police-safe I'd trust with 'em! Why, they'd tempt
the angel Gabriel!" and he drew a deep breath.